


Not What You Think

by kuonji



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:59:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He could tell when he'd made the suggestion to come out here that Hutch hadn't been all for it. Hutch, however, had only nodded and quietly made arrangements -- packed and arranged for their mail collection and plant-watering and contacted Dobey and the doctors. Never a word of complaint or dissent.  </em>Starsky's relationship with Hutch might be falling apart, and he doesn't know why.  Or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not What You Think

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Links:  
> <http://starskyhutch911.livejournal.com/302989.html>

Starsky pushed his way between a young man in a sleeveless top and another in a silk shirt and heavy gold chains. It was dark except for the multi-color strobe lights, and the air was thick with smoke and human exhalations. He could feel the thrum of heavy music through his feet, but he felt no desire to dance.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. He felt awkward with no girls to flirt with, and despite himself, he still felt nervous about being intimate with Hutch out in public. That left him in a frustrating limbo of uncertainty.

It'd been his idea to come here in the first place, so he would just have to man up and tell Hutch he wanted to leave. It was a shame; their cover charges had been higher than they were used to in Bay City, and with the motel already eating into their savings.

But Starsky had wanted to get away. Away from all the stares and whispers, even the well-meaning ones.

He'd wanted to do something just for the two of them, to somehow... bind them together, away from all the distractions. The way this thing had started, sometimes Starsky was scared it could go away just as quickly. He was all set to requalify for the force in a couple of weeks. Was their little window of -- what? Magic? Romance? Insanity? -- going to end along with Starsky's convalescence?

He could tell when he'd made the suggestion to come out here that Hutch hadn't been all for it. Hutch, however, had only nodded and quietly made arrangements -- packed and arranged for their mail collection and plant-watering and contacted Dobey and the doctors. Never a word of complaint or dissent.

And that was the other reason Starsky had wanted to get away.

Ever since the shooting, Hutch had been a pillar of support -- but not much else. He'd seemingly dedicated himself to becoming nothing more than a tool for Starsky to use to get well again. The human-ness of him, the _Hutch_ -ness of his friend seemed to be walled up somewhere untouchable.

If Starsky hadn't reached out one day out of pure pain and want, and if Hutch hadn't come into his arms with needy groans and soft cries, he'd almost believe that his partner had been replaced with a robot of himself. Even now, when out of the bedroom, Hutch continued to be a shell of his former self, and Starsky was worried that it would only get worse once he was back on the job.

Starsky needed their connection. He wanted their old wordless communication back, and he wanted this new facet of their relationship to remain. He didn't know how he could have not realized before how much he needed his partner to be his everything. And now that he had it, he wasn't going to let it slip away.

He couldn't understand why Hutch never seemed to care one way or the other.

Unless...

But Starsky shuddered away from that thought, unwilling to finish it.

Finally, he reached their table again, irritated by the music, the smoke, and his own thoughts. He drew breath to speak, only to freeze in disbelief.

A young man was straddling his partner on the bench seat and undulating slowly against him. He was lithe and handsome in a fey way, a diamond stud glinting in one ear and oiled hair combed back in a dark spiky fringe. Skin-tight black pants barely covered his pert ass, and an open leather vest covered his unmarred chest not at all. One hand was on Hutch's cheek, and he was leaning in, saying something. Something filthy, judging by his expression.

Hutch's eyes were wide, and his mouth was sagged open, presumably in shock. Starsky waited for Hutch to knock the brazen bastard away, but Hutch made no move at all.

A sudden fury overcame him. Just what the hell was _wrong_ with Hutch?

He stalked forward and, without so much as a warning, snagged the back of the goddamn manwhore's vest and dragged him off of Hutch's lap. The man yelled and scrambled to his feet with an indignant look. "What's your problem?"

"Beat it!" Starsky growled. When the man seemed to want to protest again, Starsky did something he rarely did. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt and pulled it open. The crisscrossing scars wore chilling tracks across his chest, he knew. He'd seen them in the mirror, and Hutch had kissed along them numerous times, with that aliveness and concentration that he showed lately only in bed.

The man predictably blanched and backed away with his hands up. Starsky dismissed him.

"What the hell was that?" he asked his partner. Hutch stared back with empty, frightened eyes.

"It's not what you think." His partner stumbled over the words.

Starsky knew it was exactly what he thought. But there was no use hashing it out here. "Let's go."

The way Hutch hurried to comply only made Starsky madder.

Hutch shrank to the back of his seat when they got to the car, and he kept his head down the whole trip to the motel, like he was expecting Starsky to... Starsky didn't know what. All he knew was that Hutch was driving him crazy.

Hutch followed him up and let him open the door. "I'm sorry," he said, as soon as they were inside. "He came out of nowhere and I--"

"And you let him walk all over you." He glared at Hutch, daring him to disagree.

"I would never... Starsky, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened."

"No?"

Hutch's eyes flitted away. "I love you," he mumbled to the thin, maroon carpet.

Jesus fuckin' hell. "Do you?"

Wounded blue snapped back to him. "W-What?"

"Do you have any idea what that even means, or are you just sayin' the words to make me happy?" Starsky held his breath. He'd finally let out the secret fear that had been seething inside him all this time.

Hutch only stared. His lack of reply was an answer all in itself. It hurt worse than any slug to the chest ever did.

Starsky shoved Hutch roughly into the space between the bed and the TV. "Strip," he commanded.

Hutch raised hesitant hands, then stopped. "Starsk? Wait..."

"You heard me."

Starsky watched in horrified fascination as Hutch obediently pulled his T-shirt over his head and toed off his shoes. Hutch shot another questioning look at Starsky, before unzipping and unbuttoning and baring his long lean legs.

By the time Hutch stood completely naked in front of him, Starsky was shaking with rage. "Starsky?" Hutch seemed to have belatedly picked up on his mood.

"Blow me," was all Starsky would say. He flopped back on the end of the bed and spread his legs in a lewd manner. Hutch fell to his knees and reached for Starsky's jeans, but Starsky stopped him with a hand in his hair, unable to stand this farce any longer. "What the fuck is the matter with you, Hutch?"

"I thought you wanted..."

"You thought I wanted a whore?"

Hutch didn't even argue. He just looked confused. "I was just--"

"You were being a damn doormat. As usual." Starsky backed away to lean against the headboard, wanting to get as far away from his beautiful, empty-headed partner as possible.

"You don't have any idea what you want, Hutch. Ever since I got shot" -- Hutch flinched -- "you've been a ghost. You can't make a decision for yourself with a gun to your head."

"What are you talking about?" Still that calm, humoring tone.

"I mean, you're naked and on your knees in a cheap motel in San Francisco! I mean, you're ready to suck my dick just because I asked. And what was with that sonuvabitch earlier? Would you fuck him, too, if he asked you to?"

"Of course not!" Finally, finally, a burst of irritation. "Starsky, I said I was sorry. I didn't know how to-- He surprised me, that's all."

"He was fucking gorgeous, too. Did it feel good, having a pretty-boy want you like that, when all you had to look forward to at home was me?"

And suddenly Hutch was in his face, breathing right on his cheek and arms boxing him in. "Don't you _ever_ say that. Don't you _ever_ think there's anybody out there -- male or female -- that I could possibly care about more than I care about you."

Starsky lowered the arms he'd instinctively raised in defense. "What are you talking about? I didn't mean that."

"Of course you did! And I'm sick of it! Ever since-- Ever since you got hurt, you've been so down on yourself. You're ugly, you're useless, you're, hell, I don't even know. It's like you're making up reasons why you should've died."

"That's crazy." Uncomfortably, Starsky realized that he couldn't put all the force of his usual confidence into it.

"I've been patient and, and understanding. I've been bending over backwards to show you how important you are. To everybody. To... To me."

"Is that why you started sleeping with me?"

" _Fuck_ you, Starsky." Hutch slammed the heel of one hand into the wall. The cheap plaster echoed with the blow. "How can you say that? I can't even--" He slammed the wall again, closer to Starsky's head this time, making him jerk his head away. "I don't even know what to say."

There were real tears forming in Hutch's eyes, mere inches from his own. Starsky shrank away, confused and panicked. He realized that the sensation wasn't a new one. The frustration in Hutch's face intensified.

"Stop it. Please. Stop running away from me."

Starsky shook his head. "I'm not." But he noticed how he flinched when Hutch touched his cheek.

"I've tried to be so gentle with you. So careful. But nothing seems to work. You don't tell me what you want anymore. I don't know how to _help_."

Starsky stared at his partner, seeing the tense lines on his face. He gulped and touched a light hand to Hutch's neck. "Don't leave me." That was exactly what he'd said to pull poor Hutch into this in the first place, but he couldn't stop himself. He put his other hand up and encircled Hutch's neck. "Promise."

Hutch touched his forehead to Starsky's. "I promise. Never." His eyes looked weary. "I wish you would believe me for once."

"I want to." Starsky sighed. "But sometimes I look at you, and it feels like you're not really here at all."

Hutch opened his mouth, looking angry. Then he grimaced. "Maybe... I've been running away a little, too."

Starsky tried on a smile. "So I'm not crazy?"

Hutch chuckled softly and ran one hand through Starsky's hair. "I didn't say that."

"Long as we're crazy together, right?"

"Yeah."

  
END.  

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:    
>      [Red, Black, Green](http://community.livejournal.com/starskyhutch911/173333.html) (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji    
>      [An Answer For Another Day](http://community.livejournal.com/meandthee_wish/11846.html) (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji    
>      [To Sleep...](http://morganlogan.com/tosleep.html) (Starsky & Hutch), by Morgan Logan  
>      [Fucked](http://web.archive.org/web/20051015221709/http://www.fan-archive.net/dlong/tao.htm) (Stargate SG-1), by anonymous


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